Page 16 of Final Girls and F*ck Boys

I gasped, the sound escaping my lips before I could stop it.

Atley shushed me softly, a finger brushing over my lips, there and gone. His other hand moved with deliberate calm, grabbing the rope that bound my calves together. Without a word, he lifted my legs, slow and unyielding, like he was testing the weight of my body, the limits of my flexibility.

I swallowed hard as he pushed down on my legs, folding me back until my knees were nearly touching my chest, my hips straining against the position. The sensation was overwhelming, leaving me exposed in a way that felt raw and intimate, my slick cunt on full display. The air felt cooler there, the moisture between my thighs betraying how my body reacted, how deeply this game had already sunk its claws into me.

I expected to feel detached, like this was just another performance, like the countless times I had stripped forstrangers behind a screen. Hundreds of random men paid to see me naked weekly, a transaction I never gave much thought to. They gawked, salivated, and watched with wide, greedy eyes, but none of that ever made me feel anything. No embarrassment, no vulnerability.

But with Atley, it was different. In the darkness, with him so close, seeing all of me up close—real—I felt my cheeks heat, my body reacting in ways I hadn’t anticipated. His eyes on me weren’t detached; they were burning, a quiet hunger simmering beneath the surface.

And just as quickly as the blush crept in, it vanished when I felt the blunt press of the knife handle against the slick lips of my slit. The sensation was unexpected, the cold handle against my heat sending a shock of electricity through my veins. My pulse spiked, hammering in my chest like a drum. My breath caught in my throat, every nerve in my body lighting up, attuned to the smallest movement, to every shift of the blade.

Atley paused for a moment, as if savoring my reaction, his grip tightening on the handle. His thumb traced a slow, deliberate line along the inside of my thigh, soothing the tender skin there, as if to contrast the blade’s cold precision. His touch was possessive, claiming, but not rushed. He was in no hurry, and that deliberate control stretched the moment out, every second taut with tension.

“You blush so prettily for me,” he murmured, voice low and gravelly. “But you won’t be able to hide anything from me. Not here. Not now.”

His words sent a fresh wave of heat rushing through me, and I hated how easily they affected me, how deeply I wanted to lean into the danger he promised.

Atley’s words lingered in the air, their weight pressing down on me as he shifted his grip on the knife. His thumb, still tracing that slow path along my thigh, sent a maddening mix ofsensations coursing through me—gentle one second, sharp the next. My mind was racing, caught between wanting to pull away from the cold kiss of the blade and wanting to push closer to him, to see how far he’d go, how farIwould go.

The handle pressed harder against my slit, slick with the proof of how much this affected me. Atley’s hand, firm yet steady, angled the blade—not with the intent to hurt, but to remind me how close the line was, how easily it could be crossed. His control was unnerving, the way he never faltered, never rushed.

“Does this scare you?” he asked, voice a velvet whisper, dark and dangerous. He tilted the knife just slightly, the cool steel brushing against me in a way that made my breath hitch.

“Yes,” I whispered, my voice betraying the truth. It scared me, but it also excited me in a way I couldn’t deny. My body hummed with adrenaline, fear, and something darker—something that thrilled me.

He grinned, that same wicked, knowing smile I had come to expect from him. Atley had always been the gentle one, the soft-spoken one, but here, with a knife in his hand, he was different—calculated, sharp, a predator playing with his prey. “Good,” he said, the word dripping with satisfaction. “You should be scared. But you should trust me more.”

His eyes met mine, a storm of emotions swirling behind them—desire, control, curiosity. He was testing me, pushing me to the edge, daring me to see how far I’d go before I broke. But I wasn’t ready to break. Not yet.

“I do trust you,” I breathed, the words almost surprising me. But I meant them. Deep down, I did trust him. Atley wouldn’t hurt me—not really. He wanted to see me unravel, to push me to my limits, but there was a difference between hurt and harm, and he knew it. I had to believe that.

Atley’s thumb grazed over the small nick he’d made earlier, the faint sting reminding me of its presence. He watched my reaction, every slight movement, every shallow breath, and his grin grew. Slowly, deliberately, he dragged the blunt edge of the knife across my clit, the metal sending shivers through me, a rush of sensation that left me trembling beneath him.

“You’re doing so well, little saint,” he murmured, his voice almost tender, though still laced with that dark, dangerous edge. “You’ll learn to love this. The fear, the pain—it’s all just another way to feel. And we’ll make sure you feel everything.”

He pressed down just slightly, enough to make my thighs tremble, my body betraying me as it responded to his every touch. The mixture of fear and arousal was overwhelming, my heart pounding in my chest, my breath coming in short, shallow gasps. I could feel myself teetering on the edge of something—something terrifying, something exhilarating.

Atley moved the knife lower, tracing the blade over the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, so close to where I ached for him but not close enough. He was teasing, taunting, every movement slow, calculated, and maddening.

“You want more, don’t you?” he asked, his voice a dark purr in the dim light. He shifted his grip on the knife, the metal cool and unyielding against my flushed skin. “Tell me, little saint. Tell me how much you want it.”

I clenched my jaw, refusing to give in so easily. My mind was a storm, a whirlwind of fear and need, and yet, I wanted to see how far he’d go, how hard he’d push before I caved. But even as I resisted, my body betrayed me—my hips lifting, my thighs parting slightly, seeking more of the sensation he was so cruelly denying me.

Atley chuckled softly, his breath warm against my skin. “Still fighting, I see. But you won’t be able to resist forever.” His lipsghosted over the curve of my neck, the contrast of his soft touch and the sharp blade enough to send a shudder through me.

His free hand slid down to cup my jaw, tilting my head up to meet his gaze. His eyes were dark, unreadable, but there was something in them—something possessive, somethingdangerous—that made my heart skip a beat.

“Let go,” he whispered, his lips brushing mine. “Give in to it, to me.”

The blade dipped lower, teasing the edge of my slit again, and I gasped, my body arching involuntarily toward him. The fear was still there, but it was mingling with something else now—something deeper, darker.Desire.

I let out a shaky breath, my lips parting to speak, though my voice was barely a whisper.

“I want it,” I said, finally giving in to the truth simmering just below the surface. “I wantyou.”

Atley’s grin widened, his grip tightening just slightly. “Good,” he purred, his voice dark and dripping with satisfaction. “Because now that you’ve given yourself to me, I’m never letting you go.”

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